


tombstone blues

by PunkHazard



Category: Wolf 359 (Radio)
Genre: 'Time to Kill' redux, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Gen, alien doppelgänger funtimes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-12
Updated: 2019-09-22
Packaged: 2020-06-26 23:48:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,922
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19778992
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PunkHazard/pseuds/PunkHazard
Summary: "Other than Maxwell," Kepler says, "who was in the office with us when the lights went out during Hurricane Arthur?"Jacobi's got his hands up, and he's not exactly loving the wary, serious look Kepler has on him or the way he's got one hand resting on the butt of his pistol, but it's better, he supposes, than being immediately chained to the bulkhead. "We weren't in the office," he answers promptly, corners of his lips curving up at the hint of approval in Kepler's eyes, "we were in Vancouver."





	1. Chapter 1

"Other than Maxwell," Kepler says, "who was in the office with us when the lights went out during Hurricane Arthur?"

Jacobi's got his hands up, and he's not exactly loving the wary, serious look Kepler has on him or the way he's got one hand resting on the butt of his pistol, but it's better, he supposes, than being immediately chained to the bulkhead. "We weren't in the office," he answers promptly, corners of his lips curving up at the hint of approval in Kepler's eyes, "we were in Vancouver." 

"What's that cheese you swore up and down would be amazing but Maxwell spat out?"

Jacobi sighs. "You're gonna have to be a little more specific."

"Provence."

"Camembert," he says, confident now, almost able to ignore three loud knocks against the hull. Just Othercobi's reminder that he's still out there, despite their promise to reconnect with him. "To be fair, they produce that in Normandy."

"Good times," Kepler says, and his smile is grim. He narrows his eyes, no change in his tone as he looks around the module. Lovelace and Eiffel are standing back, Eiffel clearly ready to duck behind the captain and Lovelace herself with her gun unholstered and pointed at the floor, her thumb on the hammer. "What's that restaurant we kept meaning to go to for lunch," Kepler asks, "but it closed last year?"

Jacobi opens his mouth. 

Closes it. 

There's recognition in his face, but panic brewing in his expression as he chews on the inside of his cheek. It's one thing to know the things he's experienced, to associate memories and events to things that have actually happened, and another to recall the things they had only mentioned in passing. He sees Lovelace begin to raise her gun and Kepler's gesture for her to wait.

"Jacobi?" 

"I remember the place, I just-- I need a second." He keeps his hands in plain view, eyes locked onto Kepler's. Part of him wonders if he can stall until the storm begins; the rest of him knows the colonel would never let that happen. "I know which one you're talking about."

The alarm rings again. Three minutes. Kepler backs Jacobi against the bulkhead, arm to his throat, and in the same movement unholsters his gun and presses its cool metal barrel to his temple. Familiar, frosty grey eyes narrow. "I need your answer, Mr. Jacobi." 

"It was... it was one of those kitschy hole-in-the-wall places. Hipster Mexican. It had some stupid punny name--"

It's hard to find any sort of leverage in microgravity, but Kepler's managed to catch the heel of one boot on the corner of a console and used that to hold both himself and Jacobi in place. The arm at Jacobi's throat presses down. "Final answer?"

"I don't remember." 

Kepler lets him go.

"He didn't answer the question," Eiffel points out, sounding simultaneously shaken at Kepler's sudden movement and relieved that he didn't just have to see Jacobi's brains splattered across the bulkhead. He watches Kepler holster his gun and pull Jacobi away from the wall, hand clasped firmly on his shoulder as he leans down to whisper something into his ear. 

"He told me right before liftoff," Kepler says after a moment, tipping Jacobi's chin up and turning his face to inspect it, to trace the edges of a familiar scar with his eyes, "that he completely forgot the name of the place, so it would've been more suspicious if he'd actually answered correctly. I'm sure it'll come back to him if I hold the gun to his head a little longer."

Under her breath, Lovelace mutters a quiet _Jesus_. 

Kepler returns to the communications console and opens the line, leaving Jacobi with a brief pat on his back. "Still there?" 

The voice from outside the module sounds more frightened now. "Is this a joke?" Then, pleading, "Sir, Colonel, please, this isn't _funny_ anymore."

"It's happening, Jacobi." Kepler's voice stays smooth and easy, but his hands are white-knuckled on the edge of the control panel. "I can see you in here," he says, "with us, so if you're really out there, there's two of you. I'm gonna ask you a few questions and I need you to answer them. Can you do that for me?"

The Jacobi outside is instantly calm. Something about having a plan must soothe him, and he's always been great at tests. It doesn't hurt that Kepler knows what to say to focus him, to put things in perspective and _rearrange_ his priorities. Kepler needs him to do something; there's no question that he'll get it done. "Yes sir."

"Where were we during Hurricane Arthur?"

"Vancouver, on a stakeout."

"In Provence, which cheese did Maxwell _really_ hate?"

"Camembert. She said the texture was like snot."

"The restaurant we kept saying we should check out, but never did before it closed last year?"

There's a long, thoughtful silence on the other end, the sound of metal creaking as Jacobi starts wrenching at the airlock again. 

"Jacobi," Kepler repeats.

"I don't..." Jacobi clears his throat, and his voice doesn't crack the second time around. "I don't remember. Sir, please--"

"Try." _Focus._ "Show me I can trust you."

"It was some hipster takeout place. They had this ugly-ass logo, and people were pronouncing it right, but the pun didn't make any--" THUNK. " _Molé_!"

"Okay," Kepler says. "Opening the outer door."

"Um, are you _sure_ \--"

Kepler instantly thumbs off the coms switch, his head turning just enough to catch Eiffel in his periphery. "Are you questioning a superior, Officer Eiffel?"

"Nope. No, not doing that at all. Just, saaaying--"

Eiffel cuts himself off at the look directed his way, Kepler's lip curled into a silent snarl and agitation in the furrow of his brow. It's calmer than the expression he'd worn while he was raking them over the coals for ejecting his quarters, but somehow even more unnerving. Communications officer adequately silenced, Kepler turns back to the console. "We're opening the airlock to get you out of the way of the storm," he says, "but we've still got some things to figure out before we let you inside the module. Give us a few minutes."

"Thanks, Colonel, I knew I could count on you."

Jacobi, the one inside, makes a disbelieving sound as Kepler cuts the coms again and the airlock's outer door rattles open. "You can't _seriously_ think it might really be me out there!"

"What I _know_ is that we had continuity of contact with you ever since we departed the Hephaestus. I don't doubt that you're the real Daniel Jacobi."

"Then why the _hell_ are you gonna let it in?"

Rounding on him again, Kepler pins Jacobi with a hard stare, waiting for him to drop his gaze. Lovelace and Eiffel have seen Jacobi and Maxwell lodge complaints before, but the SI-5 had always taken care to maintain the veneer of professionalism and deference in front of outside parties. Jacobi's never openly questioned him in front of the Hephaestus crew before, but Kepler decides after a few seconds that he can't begrudge the man for responding out of fear. His opportunities to bring that under control, however, are dwindling.

"There are a few possibilities at play here," Kepler answers, changing tracks with a speed that would give most people whiplash, "and we owe it to the mission to explore every option before we make a decision we can't take back." Softer: "Jacobi. Jacobi, eyes up. This could be a Contact Event. This could be _the_ Contact Event."

Jacobi looks up.

"If whatever this is, is really just like you, he'll follow my orders. If he doesn't, there won't be any doubt." Kepler pats the holster at his hip. "Stay with me, Mr. Jacobi. I need you here."

The uncertainty clears from Jacobi's expression and he squares his shoulders. "What if it does?" he asks, but the question is posed without a trace of fear. All business, just the way Kepler likes it. Compartmentalizing has always been one of his specialties. "What if we're actually indistinguishable?"

Kepler exhales. His expression is blank, placid and smooth the way an ice floe sits on top of a frigid current. He raises his left hand, the crystal face of his watch flashing dimly in the light of the console. "Everyone on board," he says, "will confirm that this is my watch, yes?" He waits for the chorus of affirmatives to end before unclasping it and gesturing for Jacobi to extend his hand. 

Jacobi stares at Kepler's face as the colonel slips the watch around his wrist and clips it, matte black metal still warm on his skin, the band loose and adjusted to fit Kepler's sturdier wrist. It's his favorite watch, but far from his most expensive. Several hundred dollars and nigh-indestructible. Gift from a Navy SEAL he'd assisted on an operation in the Gulf, Kepler once claimed. "Sir?"

"Just until we sort this mess out," Kepler tells him. "Keep that safe for me."

Jacobi holds onto the watch like a lifeline, thumb rubbing anxiously over its face. "Ten-four, sir."

"Now give me your gun." Raising his brows at Jacobi's mutinous look, Kepler extends his hand and waits until Jacobi slaps his pistol into it. "And your close-range explosives. The ones in your boot as well, Mr. Jacobi." 

After divesting himself of a truly preposterous amount of small-scale explosives, a neat bundle of them drifting by Kepler's feet, Jacobi finally spreads his arms, waiting for Kepler to pat him down and step away. "Can I at least have _something_ to defend myself with?" he asks.

"Captain, if you would."

Lovelace moves to stand behind Jacobi, securing his wrists at the small of his back with a ziptie.

"Thanks," Jacobi deadpans, but he doesn't complain when Kepler casually puts himself between the door and the rest of the crew, somehow confident that his authority alone would be enough to bring Xeroxcobi to heel. Maybe he isn't wrong; if this new Jacobi has all his memories, Daniel knows it must also be aware of how dangerous Kepler is and how quickly he can move. Maybe if the Jacobi outside the module is the real one, he wouldn't even think of disobeying.

"We can't just leave him in the airlock?" Eiffel asks.

"For ninety-six hours? No, I'm not leaving _any_ Jacobi in the airlock for four days. If he doesn't want us dead already, he will after that." Kepler has the nerve to wink at Jacobi, and it really, _really_ shouldn't set him at ease, but it does. The thought that Kepler wouldn't risk allowing Daniel to be incinerated is reassuring, even if the thought of encountering a double is viscerally terrifying. "Jacobi," Kepler says into the com, "you read me?"

"Five by five, Colonel."

"Have both your hands up as I open the hatch or I'll shoot on sight. Your counterpart is also restrained."

There's a hiss of a helmet detaching from an EVA suit, then a loud, relieved exhale. "They're up, Colonel. My gun's holstered on my left, and there's... well, you know my loadout."

Kepler waits for the hatch to open completely before he holsters his pistol and meets Jacobi just in front of it, methodically peeling him out of his EVA suit and stripping him of his gun and the exact same number of explosives as he'd relieved off the Jacobi inside. "At the moment," Kepler explains to Jacobi as he gathers the weapons into a second neat bundle and pushes it toward Lovelace, "we're pretty sure the Jacobi inside is the original. We've maintained continuous contact with him from the moment we left the Hephaestus to the moment he stepped inside the module. But I don't want to rule anything out, and we're not gonna do anything to hurt you."

Something about Kepler's presence calms the duplicate(?), a thoughtful look on his face as he processes the new information. Against all common sense, even the alien seems to trust him unconditionally. "That makes me-- what, a copy? A clone?" Clonecobi squints at Kepler as his arms are secured behind his back-- tight, but comfortable enough. He doesn't balk at the restraint, satisfied that both Jacobis are being treated with equal suspicion. "Are we talking sightlines, too? 'Cause I have a pretty clear memory of going from the Hephaestus to hailing the module, and all the communication along the way. Not to mention my _entire life_."

"We'll need time, and possibly more equipment to figure that out." Kepler drags Jacobi(?) to one corner of the module and leaves him there, then gestures for Lovelace to bring the original(?) Jacobi to the far side. "If you two try to kill each other," he says, pushing off the bulkhead to drift back to the center console, "I _will_ intervene, and then which of you is the original... will no longer be an issue."

Both Jacobis shudder, and Kepler turns in place when Eiffel taps him nervously on the shoulder.

"Sir, this pile is everything we got from Jacob-in," Eiffel says, indicating two identical sets of gear, "and this pile is everything we got from Jacob-out."

"Goddamnit," Jacob-in groans at Kepler's snort, still restrained by Lovelace, "he's gonna start using that now."

"I was thinking," Lovelace cuts in, "that if one of them has nonfunctional gear, we might be able to use it to tell who's the original. It's all the same, far as I can tell, but maybe the experts will have a better clue."

"We can't risk a potentially hostile presence having access to working explosives," Kepler says, sifting through both piles. He takes the pistols first, turning them in his hands to match their serial numbers and the identical scratches on their textured grips. "No dice."

"Can I ask," says Eiffel, not waiting for an affirmative, "what the theory is, here?"

"There's a _theory_ ," Kepler drawls, "that stellar activity like a flare or a storm is an intelligence-gathering tool, and whatever entity you communicated with may have used that to recreate a Jacobi based on the data they gathered." He stows both sets of gear in a bulkhead compartment, locking it with a swipe of his thumb across the biometric reader. "If that's right, then the original is definitely Jacob-in. But... we can't confirm that with what's available to us, and once we're within range of the Hephaestus again, I'll have Dr. Maxwell get started on a way to differentiate them."

"For what it's worth," Eiffel offers, "Colonel, I'm glad you didn't leave Jacob-out out there."

"Sure, but just because he isn't a threat _now_ doesn't mean he won't be." Crossing his arms over his chest, Kepler looks less perturbed by the second as he regards the crew. "I'm not taking that chance, but I'm not interested in letting my second in command be torn apart in a radioactive storm, either."

"I'm _right here_ , sir."

"I'm not interested in letting someone who _looks_ and _sounds_ and _acts_ like my second in command be torn apart in a radioactive storm." A long, slow exhale. "We also can't rule out the possibility that _both_ of you are duplicates and the original is being held somewhere, his condition dependent on what we do to either one of you."

Both Jacobis blanch. "That's a possibility?" Jacob-in asks.

"I can't tell you what is and isn't possible right now," Kepler tells him. "But we are proceeding under the assumption that the first theory is correct, and Jacob-out is our duplicate. For the record," he adds, "there's no one I'd rather have two of than you, Mr. Jacobi."

Lovelace makes a thoughtful sound, then slowly raises her hand. "Permission to speak?"

"Shoot."

"We have enough supplies for another mouth?"

"We'd have to keep a stricter distribution if you don't want to be stuck eating nutrition bars for the last three months," Kepler rattles off, "but there's always been more than enough for a full rotation. Any other questions or concerns?"

Silence.

"Great." He reaches into the pocket of his flight suit for a deck of cards and motions for Eiffel and Lovelace to untie the Jacobis. "Now, who's up for another round of Hold'em?"


	2. Chapter 2

Contrary to his usual slow, genial drawl, Kepler's voice is clipped when he contacts the Hephaestus at hour 80. His first words to Minkowski are, "Radio check, Lieutenant," and in the silence following his order, there's not a single peep from the rest of the module crew. Minkowski instinctively knows that to mean they're in some kind of trouble-- whether Lovelace had stepped on his toes one too many times or Eiffel had mouthed off a little too much, she doesn't know, but she's also learned her lesson about _poking the bear_. 

"Five by five, Colonel," she reports, waiting on some kind of update from their end. No luck.

"I need Dr. Maxwell on the bridge," Kepler tells her the moment he's sure that his order will be clearly transmitted. Then nothing.

"Sir, she's taking some R&R after an extended shift in engine room two, so if I can take a message--"

Kepler's voice takes on a distinctive rough edge and he audibly cranks the mic on his end so he can growl directly into it, "Get her up." Then, more smoothly: "I'll wait."

"Yes sir."

Maxwell shuffles into the bridge after Minkowski, digging a crusty particle out of her eye as they approach the console. She takes a second to yawn, gather herself, and in her most awake and professional voice: "I'm here, Colonel."

"Dr. Maxwell," Kepler responds, sounding somewhat less terse than Maxwell had expected given the urgency with which Minkowski had dragged her out of bed, "I'm sending you a recording from our first hour on the module. We have two Jacobis on board. Is Hilbert with you?"

"Two Jacobis?" Maxwell repeats. She sounds skeptical, only half-listening to the recording Kepler sends her as it begins to play. The colonel's not known for practical jokes, especially in the field, and there's a tight, steely timbre in his voice that demands her full attention. Two Jacobis. She's awake now. "It's just me and Minkowski. What do you need, sir?"

"We're gonna need a way to determine which of them is the original. Run protocol November-Echo-Papa-Hotel-Echo-Lima-Echo from the Urania. This could be a Theta Scenario." He exhales, tired, but as usual very sure of himself. "You know the command code, and I'll work with you more when we're back on board."

"Wilco."

"How's everyone holding up otherwise?" Minkowski asks, drawing a raised eyebrow from Maxwell, then a shrug, but she stubbornly waits on an answer. She'll be concerned about the crew if she wants to be. "Are you all okay? Can I ask what--"

Kepler cuts her off, giving her a brisk, "All good, Lieutenant," before flipping a few switches on the console from his end. "Docking in fourteen hours."

By this point, Minkowski can recognize when she won't get anything else out of him, and she sighs. "Anything else?"

"No. Other than what I've told Dr. Maxwell, proceed as usual."

"Copy that," Maxwell says before Minkowski can ask anything else. "Over and out."

Hera is quiet for a few seconds, allowing both Maxwell and Minkowski to process the bomb Kepler had just dropped on them. "Did I hear that right?" she says. "Two Jacobis?"

"Protocol Nephele?" Minkowski asks, turning a confused look on Maxwell. "Theta Scenario? What's that?"

Head already bowed over her tablet, Maxwell waves off the questions and snags a handhold to propel herself toward the Urania. "I'm about to find out!"

"And what am I supposed to do for the next fourteen hours?!"

"Whatever you were going to!"

* * *

The Urania's bridge has always been cozy-- smaller than the bridge of the Hephaestus, but roomy enough for three to work concurrently. Still, it's eerily quiet without Kepler and Jacobi; Maxwell boots up the console to avoid thinking too much about the two of them (three of them) stuck in the module. "Run protocol November-Echo-Papa-Hotel-Echo-Lima-Echo," she says when the voice prompt appears. "Authentication code: Charlie-Alpha-Echo-Lima-Echo-Sierra."

The first words she reads are 'Theta Scenario: Briefing on Alien Contact' and really, that sets the mood for the entire rest of the Nephele Protocol. Maxwell is already sick to death of hearing the words 'psi-wave regulator', but the first step in case of an alien duplicate involves getting one up and running. There are several references to the 'Tiamat Tapes', which she doesn't have access to.

She considers it both impressive and redundant that there's protocol for an alien _duplicate_ , which is distinct from an alien eldritch horror, which is distinct from a friendly alien presence, which is-- really, if there weren't already such a pressing issue involving her favorite colleague at hand, Maxwell might get distracted browsing the rest of this folder. She rounds up the supplies quickly, the team having brought more than enough to build and repair the regulators as needed, and the assembly is pretty simple. Certainly doable by one person in fourteen hours, especially considering that there's no imminent risk of detaching from the hull of the Hephaestus.

"Need any help?" Minkowski asks, poking her head in. Innocent enough, but also a clear play at gleaning more information. 

"I'm okay," Maxwell answers. "Do you need help with the star charts?" There's plenty that Kepler had explicitly said was not to be revealed to the crew of the Hephaestus, and plenty of things that are 'need to know' but theoretically fine. For the most part, he trusted their judgment enough to let them decide how much to share. 

"No," answers Minkowski, sidling into the room, "they're just about done. You're setting a psi-wave regulator up in here?"

"The ones outside are supposed to project a field around around the station," Hera supplies helpfully, "but the protocol calls for one inside the station as well. We haven't even finished assembly on the exterior regulators."

It takes her a second, but Minkowski abruptly comes to the realization that she'd never asked what those things actually _do_. The SI-5 hadn't seen fit to inform them, but given that they have Captain Isabel Lovelace helping with assembly, they probably aren't afraid of the crew finding out. "What exactly are they supposed to do?" she asks after a moment of watching Maxwell solder something to a circuit board.

"We have some evidence that suggests psi-waves at certain frequencies disrupt high-dimensional manipulation," Hera offers. Clearly, she'd done the reading.

"Uh?"

"You know how humans exist in three dimensions?"

"Sure. One dimension is a dot, two is a line, three is 3-D and fourth is, I think, time. Like 'A Wrinkle in Time'."

"Well, bosonic string theory posits that space-time has 26 dimensions. Superstring says eleven and supergravity says ten." Hera pauses, and at the skeptical look on Minkowski's face, continues: "Humans can perceive the first through the fourth without any outside help. I, of course, can also detect gravity and electromagnetic frequencies." 

"In any case," Maxwell cuts in, somewhat proud of Minkowski for not looking quite as perplexed as expected, "if these aliens are reproducing perfect copies of humans, they exist on, perceive, and can control more dimensions than we can even plausibly detect with our level of technology. Psi-wave regulators cap things to the third dimension. No time nonsense, no gravity or electromagnetic maipulation, and so on. They're limited to the same things that we are, on a three-dimensional plane of existence."

"That's... really cool, guys. But uh, who's 'they'?"

"You know, 'they'." Maxwell sighs at the _please don't say it_ grimace on Minkowski's face. "Extraterrestrial life. Alien presences. Although if we encounter them, I don't think it'd be a good idea to... heh, alienate them."

"Do you think that's what's happening?"

"It seems to be the most likely explanation, and it's what 'Theta Scenario' means." Somewhat more cheerfully, Maxwell turns back to her soldering. "There's also a possibility that the flare crossed some timestreams and we're in possession of another timeline's Jacobi."

"Which one do you think is most likely?"

"I don't have nearly enough information to be able to give you an educated guess. But... it's pretty exciting, isn't it?"

"I... suppose." Wringing her hands, Minkowski drifts a little closer and peers over Maxwell's shoulder. They haven't had much reason to spend time around each other, but despite the clear and present danger the SI-5 poses, it's hard to deny that Maxwell's expertise is reassuring on a number of levels. "Anything I can hammer or attach with you?"

"Oh, sure." Maxwell turns a curious look on her, calculating, before the lightbulb flickers on. _Anxious?_ "I think you already know the sequence for assembling the regulator base," she offers.

Minkowski grabs a pair of pliers and sits cross-legged beside her, already reaching for a handful of cables. "Yeah. Got it."

* * *

The module crew troops back inside solemnly. Despite Kepler's efforts, neither Jacobi was in much of a mood to play Hold'em, while Lovelace and Eiffel were too distracted to be any fun cleaning out. They'd eventually all retreated to individual corners of the module to wait out the storm, both Jacobis inching toward Kepler until they were settled within several feet, able to be close to him and keep their eyes on each other in their peripheries. Kepler had made a comment about cats that had fallen a little flat, garnering him two anxious, wounded looks from both Jacobis rather than snickers as he'd expected, and that sure put _him_ in a sour mood.

Maxwell and Minkowski exchange a look when Kepler hangs back, Minkowski breaking off to debrief with Lovelace and and Eiffel. Kepler sends Jacob-in to the Urania's communications room and Jacob-out to the canteen, more rec area and living room than the mess area on the Hephaestus. 

"I'm guessing the one with your watch is the original?" Maxwell asks once they're alone on the bridge, her tablet at her side. She watches Kepler pull up video feeds of both the bridge and canteen on the central console, tension slipping off his shoulders now that he's got the tools to do his job.

"Well," Kepler drawls, zooming in on both Jacobis and placing the feeds side by side, "he's the one I _believe_ is the original."

"I had the psi-wave regulator on as you came within range," she tells him, watching one Jacobi sipping despondently from a mug of coffee while the other anxiously turns Kepler's watch in his hands. The Hephaestus crew seems eager to rest, but through a camera Maxwell catches Minkowski hovering by the hatch between ships before she's pulled away by Lovelace. 

"Turn it on again. Low power."

It takes a few seconds for anything to happen, but the Jacobi in the canteen sets down his mug, grimacing and massaging his temples until Maxwell turns off the regulator again. 

"You were right, Colonel. Jacob-out reacted to the psi-waves."

"Jacob-in didn't even notice them. Same for when we approached." They exchange a look, Kepler straightening and stretching his spine. He frowns, eyes fixed on the screen as he closes the video feeds. "Alright. Let's grab Jacobi and lay out the next steps. You're taking point."

It's been four years since Maxwell joined the team and while she and Jacobi are close, he's rather _protective_ of his role as Kepler's right hand. Given everything else that's happened to him in the past few days, he might not take too kindly to the thought of Maxwell elbowing in as SIC. Still, she can see the logic behind this move: Kepler's confidence that she hasn't been compromised, less pressure on Jacobi while he adjusts to this new development. "He won't like that," Maxwell comments, but she doesn't dispute it.

"He'll deal with it. The plan has changed. There's something you both need to hear before we proceed."

"The Tiamat Tapes?"

"Yeah. Like I said, Theta Scenario."

"Colonel?"

Kepler catches himself on a handhold by the hatch, eyeing Maxwell with a keen, piercing stare when he registers that she hasn't moved to follow him. "Yes?" he says. Dangerously casual. 

"What do you plan to do with the other Jacobi?"

"Are you worried about him? He's an alien duplicate."

Clutching her tablet tighter, Maxwell frowns. "But he's... still Jacobi."

"Keep in mind what I said about Hera." He turns bodily to face her, feet braced against the bulkhead and legs already coiled to kick off. "Your obligation is to the _mission_ and to the _crew_."

"And is Jacobi an expendable asset?" She sees his eyes harden, but draws her shoulders up. "I don't accept that." 

"I don't care what you can or can't accept, Dr. Maxwell. You have your orders."

Maxwell trusts him; against all common sense and good advice, she's relied on Kepler to achieve his objectives and preserve their lives doing it. She's never put much stock in her instincts but the math says that he's had at minimum a four-year streak of consistency, confidence and success. He cares about Jacobi about as much as he's capable of caring about anyone, and Maxwell trusts that to be true even now. "If he has Jacobi's memories and his skills," she protests, fully expecting to be dismissed without a second thought, "isn't he just as helpful to have on our side?"

This isn't the first time either of them have been to space; it isn't even the first time they've been to space _with each other_ , so Kepler's short temper and simmering unease aren't new. More than anyone, he knows how easily space can kill them, how slim their chances of escape in case of a real emergency, and his patience has been stretched extraordinarily thin over the last few months. She wouldn't be surprised if he shut the door in her face, but he doesn't move. 

"I'm not going to waste a perfectly good Jacobi." Kepler's gaze is steady, his one concession to stress being the hand he runs through his meticulously styled hair. "As long as he's not a threat to us," he says as if to a five-year-old, enunciating every letter as he rolls it across his tongue and past his teeth, "I have every intention of keeping him alive. But I won't let _anyone_ compromise our mission, and I _will_ do whatever it takes to _whomever_ it takes to see it through. Is that answer to your satisfaction, _Doctor_?"

Maxwell nods. "Yes sir."

"Now, Maxwell, are you _finally_ ready to do your job?"

"Yes sir." The thought that Kepler is prepared even for the scenario in which Jacobi's been duplicated by an extraterrestrial being is somehow both horrifying and a great comfort. She catches his eye before he can pull himself through the hatch, flashing him a small, bright smile. "Thank you, Colonel."

He gives her a nod and kicks away, swinging himself around the corner.

* * *

Kepler shuts off the Tiamat Tapes with an brisk flick of his thumb, yet again the only hint to his frustration. He likes his leisure, his flourishes, the luxury of taking his time, so the absence of it speaks volumes especially in his private quarters. Neither Jacobi nor Maxwell decide to comment on it. 

Besides, Jacobi has other things to freak out about while Maxwell quietly processes the information she'd just received. " _Lovelace is an alien?!_ " He drags a hand down his face, looking briefly to Maxwell for some backup and getting a shrug in return. Kepler had done what she wanted and given her information; she's clearly got no complaints, so Jacobi whips his head back around to the colonel. "And you weren't gonna _tell us_ this?"

"I'm under orders to not reveal that information, Mr. Jacobi." He turns off the console, one hand braced on the edge of the panel to keep from drifting away. Jacobi and Maxwell have both chosen handholds nearby, the two of them at attention. "Now," Kepler continues, "unless you plan on getting _dissected_ , you are going to listen very carefully to my orders."

"There's _two aliens_ on board."

"Lovelace doesn't know," Maxwell says at last, "but she might be able to piece it together. Out of everyone the crew, she'll probably be the first to consider the possibility." 

Nodding, Kepler indicates the Hephaestus with a tilt of his head. "I want to get ahead of the curve."

Jacobi looks at him, tense, but calmer now than a second ago largely because the rest of the team seems relaxed. Maxwell's always been the smartest of them and Kepler's no slouch himself, but then again Jacobi's never seen either of them panic even when the situation might have called for it. "And you're gonna do that by...?"

"Might have to loop in the rest of the crew." Kepler sighs, turning to regard Jacobi for a few seconds. "I need them to not screw this up for us."

"You're gonna tell them everything? Because of the _copy_? What the hell for?"

Kepler considers that while he usually appreciates Jacobi's feedback, the keen insight his demolitions expert often provides, it's awfully inconvenient when he loses his cool. "There's a presence on board with your memories," he says evenly, yet visibly impatient, "your abilities, and your appearance. Given that you don't have an identical twin we can pass him off as, chances are only _one_ of you will have any future back on Earth in the interests of _future scientific development_. Which one do you think that'll be?"

He's greeted with shell-shocked silence from both Maxwell and Jacobi, staring as if Kepler's grown a second head. "Sir?" Maxwell says. "You're going to hide this from Mr. Cutter?"

"Cutter's unpredictable," Jacobi points out, struggling with the utterly foreign concept that anything might take priority over Goddard's interests. "You can't know for sure that he won't just keep _him_ to experiment on. I'm still an asset to the company."

"Oh, sure. He might even want to run concurrent scans to see the differences between you two. Concurrent _vivisections_." The confusion on his subordinates' faces strikes a nerve and Kepler decides that now's a good a time as any to reset their expectations. "Mr. Cutter doesn't know what it's like up here," he tells them, "but he trusts my judgment. Our mission objective calls for a smooth Contact Event, so we, one, get all our equipment up and running, and two, not antagonize the extraterrestrial agents. Ready to move?"

"What if he finds out?" asks Maxwell, quick as ever on the uptake. The mix of relief and disappointment on Jacobi's face is... well, it's expected. 

"We'll cross that bridge when we come to it. For now... napalm room." Kepler makes for the hatch and smiles at the sound of shuffling behind him, Jacobi and Maxwell on his heels. "I want to mitigate that threat, and it'll be one less variable when everything goes down. Would've been a convenient card up our sleeve, but I don't like having this many moving parts."

"I _knew_ we should've left it outside," Jacobi mutters, jostling Maxwell as they reach the door but allowing her through. He pulls it shut behind him, all three of them keeping pace along the corridor leading back to the Hephaestus. 

Kepler throws an arm out, the momentum twisting his body to face them in a clean, graceful move even as he continues his trajectory backwards along the wall. "Buck up, Mr. Jacobi!" He grins, snags a handhold without looking and kicks off again, prompting both his team members to speed up after him. "All the builds you've got ahead of you should go twice as fast."


End file.
